


Please Wait To Be Seated

by ratafia



Series: Sit me on your throne [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison Argent Lives, Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, BAMF Stiles, Blow Jobs, Derek Hale is Not a Failwolf, Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Oblivious Stiles Stilinski, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Omega Verse, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Pining, Pining Derek Hale, Rimming, Scent Kink, Scent Marking, True Mates, Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes Live
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-28 05:08:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18749641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratafia/pseuds/ratafia
Summary: Everybody including Stiles is sure that he's a beta. He's fine with it, not like he wanted to go through heats or growl on everybody, and that concept of true mates sounds way too cheesy. So he ignores the shaking his legs and his heart doing every time he sees Derek, dude's pretty intimidating after all.Derek is sure he's cursed to never meet his true mate. He's fine with it (not really), but he probably deserves it after everything. So he ignores how one fragile human beta is the only one able to calm him down and infuriate him to no end like nobody else. It's a strange life in Beacon Hills after all.They're both wrong, as proven by Stiles suddenly presenting as omega about half a second after he is safely out of BH. When he returns for the summer break from university and decides that his new favorite thing to annoy Derek is to sit on him, alpha is even more convinced he's cursed. He just doesn't mind it all that much anymore.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThePornFairy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePornFairy/gifts).



> This was born from my desire to write some smutty nonsense, which grew into a pining fluffy smutty nonsense with a cute prompt for "Stiles sitting on Derek's lap to annoy him". I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.  
> Stiles' look was largely based on Dylan in American assassin.  
> Also, presume that Peter is somewhere in the winds, while Cora and Aiden are both alive, together and are traveling.  
> Big thank you to amasing [sisforsterek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sisforsterek/pseuds/sisforsterek), who beta'd this, you are my hero.

It had been a good year away from Beacon Hills, Stiles thought, driving down the empty highway. Everything was good and relatively calm, no monsters (unless you count that one stray rusalka in the bathrooms, who turned out pretty fun to hang out with), no life-threatening situations, no one promising to rip his throat out with their teeth... Okay, that last one was nowhere near as bad as the other ones, he had to admit. It was strange, being away and suddenly missing that one person you'd never expect to miss, no matter how far they came from accusing each other of murder or slamming the other into the nearest wall. They still weren't friends, not really, pack - for sure - but beyond that...

  
  
  
  


Beyond that, Derek found himself knee-deep in a shitty situation. For the nth time. It must have been a Tuesday, with their monster of the week - some toothy tentacle mass with razor sharp teeth - who was screeching as the pack tore it apart, while some opportunistic hunters were trying to get some easy kills while the werewolves were distracted. They were the reason as to why Derek was on the ground, bleeding from a gaping wound in the stomach where the monster had chomped on him right when he was dodging the suddenly erupted gunfire.

Apart from the massive blood loss, there was something else wrong. Despite the fact that he felt the wound already itching to slowly close itself, he didn't really feel any better, just the opposite. Every time he tried to get up, to move, the dizziness in his head and ringing in his ears were only getting worse.  

“Oh, no, no, no, stop that! Stay!”

A commanding voice, coupled with the confident and forceful touch that (admittedly, rather gently) forced him back to the ground, was weirdly familiar, but Derek couldn't see clearly anymore. All he could make out was a vague silhouette above him, so he concentrated on the scent instead, trying to make out whether it was a friend or foe…

And that's when he was hit with a most delightful, delicious—perfect even through the blood, grime, and smoke of the battlefield—scent of an omega. It relaxed him immediately, body going slack and pliant under the stranger's probing fingers inspecting his side, his face, his neck... It took him a good minute to snap out of it, trying to move yet again, since he most definitely did not know that person who touched him and, no matter how good he smelled, he couldn't afford being just groped by some hunter or whoever it was.  

“Oh for the love of…”

The voice sounded annoyed now, hands gripping his shoulders and then... Then Derek found himself with a lap full of that deliciously smelling omega, who proceeded to trap his weakly struggling wrists above his head as his knees squeezed his hips in an effort to hold him still. Even though he was still in pain and there was a wave of nausea creeping in, Derek felt... parts... of himself valiantly trying to respond to the situation and wished he could just die of mortification right then and there.

“Stop squirming, dammit! You're poisoned and I need to get it out! Unless you’d rather die, you stupid, stubborn Sourwolf!”

The nickname rang familiar though, comforting his thoughts as they were slipping into a jumbled mess he couldn't quite make out anymore. The poison did sound rather believable, as Deaton did say "don't let it bite you", but it was more like a trite piece of common sense than a warning by that point, so Derek ignored it. He probably shouldn't have.

He wasn't ignoring the stranger, though not that he could even if he tried, as the scent was still strong and enticing in his nose, keeping him conscious and grounded at the time. The omega kept talking, mumbling more like it, but Derek couldn't make out words, as they seemed that they were not even in English. He had a nice voice though, the sound drowning out everything else around them, and the alpha allowed himself to relax, just for a moment. He could always blame the wound, or the poison, later on, but for the time being, he was good, simply laying down underneath the stranger.

And then there was heat, like fire, scolding, racing through him from the wound and rippling outward to all of his body. He half heard the stranger soothing him with some gentle nonsense, promising that it'll end soon, but he couldn't make out the specifics, blood and fire rushing in his ears. He screamed and roared his outrage to the night skies, his pack picking up their alpha's call from all around them. He must've thrashed too, for when the pain finally subsided, leaving him exhausted but mostly clear-headed, he found his arms trapped in a strong grip again and his body pinned by a stranger practically laying atop of him.

That's when he heard the gun cocking, his vision returning enough for him to make out the hunter standing above them with a muzzle of the pistol pressed to the omega’s temple. He tried to move, to help, but his limbs felt like useless noodles, his reflexes sluggish and strength gone. His heart sank, fearing that yet another person who helped him would suffer for it right in front of him, but...

He had clearly underestimated the omega. Even though he was sure by the scent that he was human, his eyes lit up with molten gold for a split moment, and then he moved, graceful and quick, disarming the hunter in a clearly practiced move, toppling the man to the ground and then decisively hitting him with the butt of the gun, rendering him unconscious. The omega huffed out an unimpressed chuckle, and with a final merciless kick to the gut for the knocked out hunter, he turned to Derek, while wiping off the gun with his hoodie and carelessly throwing it into the woods after cocking the safety back into place.

“Can you stand? We probably should get out of here, get you checked out properly.”

Derek grounded out his "yes", not wanting to appear as helpless as he actually felt to the stranger, whose features were even more familiar now that the alpha could actually make out some of them through the dark. The omega cocked a doubtful eyebrow but didn't protest, instead offering a hand to help him up. It was distressingly hard to even get his arms to cooperate, to prop himself off the ground enough to grasp the offered hand, going on sheer stubbornness by that point, so it was no surprise that somewhere mid-ascend his legs gave out, almost toppling them both back on the ground. But then, there was that golden glow behind the stranger's glasses again, and he grunted, catching Derek at the last moment by the waist and righting them back into a standing position.

“Well, so much for standing, Sourwolf. You could've just told me, you know.”

Derek ignored the annoyed tone. Ignored his own body betraying him, ignored the fact that he wasn't as much standing as hanging onto the stranger, whose surprisingly strong arms were hugging him close by the shoulders and waist. It didn't matter.

All he could think about was that dizzying scent right under his nose where he smashed his face into the crook of the omega's neck, so soft and warm, settling over him like a fluffy blanket of total calmness. He never felt like that in his life, all thoughts and rational thinking just gone, replaced with one aching need - to never be separated from that delicious aroma. So he stubbornly clung to the body to which he was pressed, nuzzling that neck, rubbing his own scent all over that creamy skin, nearly passing out from how much better they smelled together, how right it felt.  

He was dimly aware of at least somebody from his pack being close now, felt some other hands trying to pry him from the omega, but he only growled at them, as under no circumstances would he be willing to let go anytime soon. Then there was some debate, the voice of the stranger right in his ear sending shivers down his spine, and then it was addressing him, asking to at least walk. He could walk, now that they had stopped trying to separate them, so he did, still glued to the omega's neck, still clinging to him even when he was lowered into the car seat and other familiar scents finally lulling him to an exhausted sleep.  

  
  
  


He was awoken slowly, wrapped in the cocoon of warmth and that same scent, mingled with his own, creating such a heady mixture of want and safety, that Derek couldn't help but nuzzle even closer, never mind that he was already face planted into the omega's shoulder. His sleepy mind helpfully supplied him with the reason for warmth as his mind cleared -the lithe body plastered atop of him, the weight calming and pleasantly grounding. The smooth expanse of back muscles under Derek's hands, that he proceeded to map out with his fingertips, were also not so bad. The omega wiggled under the touch, not really getting away, but Derek still held him closer, unwilling to let go off the beautiful dream, smiling at the giggles in his ear - apparently the man of his dreams was ticklish.  

“Are you... are you finally awake?! Oh thank fuck, I need to pee so bad, oh my god, oh just let go already, you snuggle monster!”

His hands got slapped, repeatedly, until he let go and then, uncaring of his miserable grumble, the omega shimmied out of the embrace, practically jumping from the bed and running to the bathroom.

It was in that moment that Derek realized that he wasn’t actually dreaming. And that there was an actual, real-life stranger in his bed, whom he was shamelessly cuddling. And that now that he was gone, he felt suddenly bereft, and cold, and wrong. Which he really shouldn't, since he didn't even know that person!

His groggy brain finally slammed into gear, and Derek nearly shot up on the bed, frantically checking himself over to find no wounds, only a slight headache, probably from the poison. Then, the door opened with a force that nearly tore it off the hinges and his pack ran in, elbowing each other as each was trying to get to their alpha first. It was only moments later that Derek found himself surrounded by his betas, nuzzling, talking, questioning his well-being, and just being their generally obnoxiously adorable selves.

“I'm fine, I'm fine... Who... was it just here?”

“Ha? Do you mean Stiles? Where is he anyway?” Scott answered, as he lifted his head from when he butted his forehead against Derek's shoulder to scent mark him, looking around in puzzlement, as if it was weird that Stiles wasn't there, in Derek's bed, in his arms.  

“Right here,” a strangely familiar yet so not voice rings out from the bathroom, helping Derek to finally connect the face behind the glasses with the person it belongs to, which leaves him stunned and confused.

Because Stiles was a beta, always had been just a frail human beta, who was annoying and brilliant and insanely loyal to his friends, who was gone from Beacon Hills, probably for good, seeing as he didn't come back to any of the breaks during his whole year at university.

But now the man - not a boy anymore - standing before him is... anything but that. The teenage gangly build finally subsided, and in its stead came a slender frame, beautifully adorned with clearly defined muscles, rippling under his shirt, barely hidden by the figure-hugging jeans. His face, still Stiles, of course, but matured, accentuated by stylish glasses and adorable curly locks of hair he’d grown out since their last meeting. They were tucked behind his ear on one side, revealing the long column of his neck and a glistening earing in the earlobe and another higher on the curve of his ear. And then there were long strong fingers, adorned with numerous rings, and cords of metal and leather circling his elegant wrists, clanking quietly as he dried his hands with a towel.

“Nice to see you’re not dead, Sourwolf.”

Stiles grinned.

Derek was so fucked.


	2. Chapter 2

Derek was truly doing his best to just avoid Stiles as much as he could after that. That way he could fool himself into thinking that his reaction to his scent was just a poison-induced fluke and nothing more. He could pretend that he didn't change his sheets for three days after Stiles lay on them just because he was tired and busy, and totally not because he slept so much easier with his nose still chasing stubbornly after the faintest traces of the aroma. But eventually even the traces of it were gone, and Derek gave up and threw them into the wash, refusing to admit that it hurt to be left without it. Because it was silly and strange and he didn't want to think about it. So he didn't. 

 

Instead, he pressed the pack on why, exactly, nobody told him that Stiles presented as an omega, and all he got was a lot of confused faces and "well, didn't (insert name here) tell you? I was sure somebody told you!". But nobody actually did. Derek was unsure if he should be angry at the pack or feel guilty of being unable (again) to build effective communication between himself and his betas. Maybe that droning Deaton always did as to how Derek needed a proper Emissary wasn't total bullshit and trying to get out of helping them. 

 

But that was neither here nor there at the moment, because it was a movie night, now with everybody back on their summer breaks, and the loft was filled to the brim with laughter, food and teasing banter. It almost turned into a full-fledged fight over which movie they will actually watch, but in the end, they compromised on watching two, so that nobody went unsatisfied. It was actually Stiles idea, who managed to calm yelling and all but growling betas with just a couple of jokes and a slap on the ass (Scott's, which got him spluttering hilariously). 

 

So while they settled on the couches and cushions, he volunteered to finish up the popcorn and Derek quickly situated himself in the corner of the couch right next to Boyd and Erica, lounging on his lap, so that omega couldn't sit anywhere close enough to seduce his body into leaning in to smell him. It was maddening enough with him just being in the same space, the warm aroma, infused with happiness and family and home, always at the edge of Derek's senses, teasing and beckoning to get closer, to take in his fill. He didn't. 

 

The movie has started, betas hollering for Stiles to hurry up, which he did, carrying two giant bowls filled with steaming popcorn in each hand... Only to realize that there was no more space left to sit. Popcorn was picked from his hands quickly, but with most of the pack paired up or in some cases living as a happy trio, pretty much all of the couches and armchairs were covered twice over with people sitting and laying on each other in comfortable snuggles. Except Derek, of course, in front of whom Stiles stood in the end, glaring at him and pointing an accusing finger. 

 

“You took my seat!” 

 

“No.” 

 

Derek tried to make his answers short if only not to be forced to breathe too deeply, he would prefer to stay silent altogether but something in Stiles expression said he's better off playing nice. Despite the fact that with him so close that delicious scent coated not only Derek's nose but his tongue as well, making him shift uncomfortably, trying to will his body to not react. Not here and not now. 

 

“Yes, you did! Move, Sourwolf!” 

 

“No.” 

 

“Would you keep it down?! We’re trying to watch a movie here” - it was Jackson, with his usual arrogant sass which lost just a bit of its power with the guy looking like a happy puppy all cuddled into Lydia on one side and Ethan on another. 

 

“Derek…”

 

“No.” 

 

He was tempted to just turn his head away, his arms already folded across his chest, instinctively trying to keep his distance and keep himself under control, the annoyance bringing new edges to Stiles scent, making the alpha nearly dizzy. He didn't even care at this point who saw or smelled what from him, he just wanted Stiles away from him, half tempted to bail on the evening altogether no matter how much it would probably hurt his pack. 

 

“Just... find somewhere else to sit. Anywhere.” 

 

“Anywhere, you say…”

 

And then Derek was caught between horny and terrified because Stiles’ face morphed into that wicked "I have a genius plan and it's gonna stir some shit up" expression. It never, not one time brought anything good to Derek, so he was getting up to get the hell out of there or at least to the other side of the room, losing his seat be damned, but then…

 

...then he found himself with a lap full of omega, who's all but shoved him into the couch with his back, wiggling and squirming to get comfortable, his scent all but screaming evil satisfaction with his own idea. 

 

Derek froze. He held his breath. His thoughts were screaming now, warring between his instincts howling in triumph at finally having the desired scent so close, touching him, and the more rational, human part screeching in panic and outrage that he has to get up, has to say something to end this, that it was a profoundly bad idea. 

 

He did nothing. 

 

For when he opened his mouth to actually say something - a whole three minutes later - all he tasted was Stiles, calmed down and already engaged in a movie, his warm body draped over Derek with surprising familiarity, as if they did this all the time. And against his still screaming mind, his own body just went lax, accommodating the arrangement like it was meant to be that way, like they were supposed to be tangled with one another all the time. Stiles just sighed in contentment and burrowed closer into Derek's chest, dropping his head on his shoulder, and now his curls were all but shoved into Derek's nose, drowning him in the delectable scent all over again, nearly causing a moan to spill from his lips. 

 

“You okay there, boss?”

 

It was Erica, whispering quietly into his ear from where she was plastered to his side while sitting sideways over Boyd's lap. Derek could only nod, giving up, as by this point moving would cause more trouble than it would solve. The movie came and went, with him not remembering a single thing about it, dozing on and off in a weirdly relaxed state. The pack put on the next one, chatting and laughing, but Stiles hasn't moved an inch and Derek hasn't said a word either, eventually falling asleep with his face lowered in the crook of the omega's neck. 

 

Derek was so fucked.


	3. Chapter 3

It's been almost an hour now, as Derek sat in the woods, freezing his bits off on the chill ground and cursing the latest supernatural that decided to grace Beacon Hills with its presence. From the scarce reports the locals provided for the police station and social media, it looked like the floating lights that blinded people if they didn't run away soon enough. The lore Deaton and Stiles uncovered told some obscure legend of the type of will-o-wisps, that appeared only if you stay still long enough so that’s what Derek was doing. For an hour. On the cold forest floor.

It was tedious and boring, and not very agreeable with his natural wolf's desire to fix problems with actions rather than waiting, so when his ears picked up footsteps on his right, soon coupled with slightly labored, but good measured breathes, he poised, slowly rearranging himself for easier defense, but not revealing his position just yet... Something tagged at the back of his mind, something not quite right, but he was way too excited for any kind of action at the moment.   
That is, until Stiles wandered into the little clearing Derek claimed for the night, lighting up with a huge grin when he saw him and nearly bouncing in his haste to get closer to alpha's side. Only when he was in the arm’s reach and the by now familiar sweet scent filled Derek's nose, calming him instantly, did he realized that it was what his senses perceived as wrong - no scent at all on his approach. 

“Found you!” 

“Yes, Stiles, you did. Now, what the hell are you doing here?!” 

The young man pouted but quickly righted himself, promptly sitting down on the ground right next to Derek, apparently deciding to ignore the blatant unwelcoming reception he got. 

“Helping with a stakeout, of course. Somebody’s gotta make sure we get rid of the thing the right way, so it doesn't decide to come back or something.” 

“I'm more than capable of ‘getting rid of’ anything. And you should not be here, it's too dangerous.” 

That got Derek full attention and some nasty angry vibes as well, maddening scent turning spicy and nearly clawing at his throat, all his senses ringing to stop antagonizing the omega, but he ignored them all, staring the human down his glasses. It didn't really work all that well as it used to - Stiles seem to have gained a few more centimeters in height and quite a bit of bulk in muscle, so the difference between them wasn't that significant anymore. But even more so, there was that inner steely strength inside Stiles, determination with which he always ran headlong into danger for the pack, now even more prominent, and somehow balanced by a subtle, but unflinching confidence in himself. Which was ridiculously hot and Derek should stop thinking about it immediately.

“Why? Because I'm human? Or because I'm an omega?” 

The last word was laced with such a clear threat that Derek had to fight the shivers crawling all over his neck and back, silently screaming at himself to get a fucking grip. This was serious. 

“Both.” 

He growls now, allowing some alpha red to bleed into his eyes, asserting his authority with one last resort, because this is not a joke. No matter how capable he thought himself to be, Stiles should not be anywhere near danger but instead protected, cared for, cherished... And while Derek's thoughts veer into the strangest places, Stiles cocks an unimpressed eyebrow at the display and flicks him on the nose with an actual strength behind it, making Derek yelp in surprise and recoil, which gets him a delighted laugh from the omega, head thrown back in unabashed amusement, neck bared to the cold night air and Derek's hungry eyes. 

There's again that golden flicker in the amber eyes, lighting up the night with mysterious glimmer, and from up close Derek can now make out that it's not like a werewolf's eyes at all. No, it looks like the irises of Stiles' eyes threaten to devour his pupils, expanding in undoubtedly magical display, and with that glow just for a second, comes the bright and frightening and exhilarating impression of power that does make Derek shiver this time and the human smirk, and then it's gone and it's again just plain old Stiles before him, smiling goofily. 

“Don't you worry Sourwolf, I picked up a few tricks of my own. No need to twist your panties in a bunch on my behalf.” 

Derek grunts his assent, a bit dazed at the display, returning to his previous pose to wait, again, while his mind keeps running in circles around what tricks are those exactly, and where did he learn them, and why knowing he is safer that way, strong, able to protect himself, formidable even, fills him with a heady mix of satisfaction and awe. Stiles, however, keeps fidgeting, turning this way and that, folding his legs below him and then straightening them five minutes later, playing with the sleeves of his hoodie, picking on stray leaves on the ground…

“You do remember those things won't come out unless we stay still, right?” 

“Well, excuse me for being cold! Not all of us have wolfy buns of steel to keep them comfy!” 

“The buns of…” - Derek sputters, scowling at the equally annoyed human, but then he huffs, feeling a bit more steady on the familiar ground of harmless ribbing. 

“Well, why don't you just conjure some pillows for yourself, oh mighty wizard? Or are your tricks just not that good?” 

He can see and scent the indignation now, Stiles' hands clenched in fists, unable to hold back the smile, finally getting at least one over him. And of course, it doesn't last long. Not long at all.   
Because Stiles is a wicked, terrifying creature, a true force of nature to be honest, and Derek is helpless before him. He only manages a half-hearted "whatareyoudoing" until the human closes in on him in one swift motion, leveling himself with hands on his shoulders and straddling his lap so that they end up face to face with only the minuscule distance between them. 

Derek stares, or probably more like gapes, if going from a very pleased smirk on Stiles’ lips, and he really should not have looked there, his mind now flooded with images of that mouth, and how would it taste, how good it would feel to devour it in a kiss, how delectable it would be to get it on his tongue for real, not just the scent alone. His own mouth goes dry and all protests die somewhere in his throat when Stiles wiggles a bit, making himself comfortable and draping his chin over Derek's shoulder once again and his hands over his waist in a loose embrace.

“Better than a pillow. And that way we can watch both directions at once, bonus points.” 

Stiles speaks, softer now, somehow intimate almost, his voice right near Derek's ear, and he can only nod jerkily, not having the strength or the presence of mind to argue. It's a ridiculous excuse, but just like all the times before his body does not care for the panic of his mind, accommodating the position on autopilot, balancing the counterweight on his lap, folded into a lotus position with his legs and tentative arms on the omega's back. The human only sighs, at that, burrowing closer, nearly snuggling in pursuit of warmth or something else, Derek doesn't know and frankly doesn't care. He's already floating in a contented daze, monster hunt forgotten and unimportant in favor of drawing lungfuls of delicious scent and comforting touch all around him, still stubbornly refusing to examine the glaringly obvious reasons for such behavior. 

Except now that he thinks about it, it spins and spins in his head on repeat, pulsing in his veins with fearsome clarity. For the only reason, he would react to someone's scent and presence like that if they are his true mate. 

Derek was so fucked.


	4. Chapter 4

It's gotten even worse after that night. Mostly because of half the pack walking in on them cuddling and Derek totally missing their approach, so caught up in his panic. At least they banished the wisps... Which was the smallest consolation possible, with the new pack agenda - make as much lap sitting jokes at Derek and Stiles as possible. 

Everybody pitched in. Literally, everybody, with even Deaton slipping in some deadpan comment in their latest briefing which quite honestly was the last straw for the alpha, and he simply stormed off to combat the overwhelming urge to introduce that insufferable enigmatic smirk to his fist. Preferably a few times in a row. 

Which made the arrival of training day mandatory for the whole pack such a welcome respite, with how now Derek had an absolutely legitimate reason to punch some respect in his betas while he ran them through the fighting drills. The humans were present too, Allison, with occasional help from Isaac or Scott, was guiding Lydia through the new set of moves, and Stiles who was surprisingly successful in sparring against the free-at-the-moment betas. 

Derek would never admit it, but he was more than once distracted with the humans side of the wide clearing out in the Preserve they used for practice. The visage of Stiles in a tight sleeveless shirt and long shorts, showing off so much skin, flushed and covered with a glistening sheen of sweat from exertion, was now burned for all eternity into Derek's mind, but he kept sneaking glances, unable to stop himself, catching flashes of rosy cheeks, muscles rolling under creamy skin, a stray glimmer of sun catching onto one of the many rings he refused to take off. 

It was one of the breaks when all hell broke loose, the conversation somehow shifting to differences in smells and perceptions, and suddenly Stiles was demanding to know how he smelled to everybody now, and did anything change or not. 

“Cookies,” - called out Scott, smiling and leaning lazily into Isaac’s side, who was too engrossed into some whispering debate with Allison to pay attention. 

“Men's locker room…”

“...After practice!” - added Ethan to Jackson's mocking droll, earning the two a furious gaze and a kick each. 

“Milk,” - Erica smiled fondly, ruffling man's damp hair. 

“Coffee. And french fries sometimes,” - thoughtfully added Boyd. 

Finally, everyone turned to Derek, numerous pairs of eyes boring into him expectantly, some with amusement, some with barely concealed glee, but the worst was Stiles himself, eyelashes fluttering excitedly and whole face a perfect picture of rapt anticipation. 

“Nothing,” - alpha grit out, turning away, refusing to fall into the trap of that imploring gaze. 

“Nothing? Nothing?! Come on, dude, that's simply impossible!”

Stiles was getting antsy now, frowning, hands flying up in a wide gesture of disbelief.

“Nothing changed. You smell the same. That's it.” 

There were a slew of badly stifled snickers and then a stinging slap landed on Derek's shoulder, snapping his attention back to the omega, now standing over him with a murderous face. This did not bode well at all. 

“You liar, liar, wolfy pants on fire! Why won't you tell me, ha? Are you trying to imply I smell bad now? Tell me!” 

He kept poking him in his side now, Derek near panicking, again, because he could not afford the answer, truthful or not, with everyone’s attention on him now, so he frowned and kept his mouth shut. He should've known it wouldn't fly with Stiles. 

“Okaay, now I just gotta know, and if you're not going to tell me yourself, I'll just beat it out of you!” 

And then Derek was hoisted on his feet by the forceful grip on his elbow and nearly dragged back to the center of the clearing, the hot palm on his skin feeling like a brand, and the proximity coupled with all the sweating increasing potency of the omega's smell exponentially. The man didn't even have any time to gather his bearing, when Stiles released him, assuming a position and beckoning him with a finger and a quirked brow. All he could do is defend himself. And fail miserably at it. 

It was probably funny to watch if pack comments were any indication, but Derek could hardly make out what they were saying with Stiles constantly in his space, fists jabbing, hands grasping in practiced holds, kicks, and punches measured and frighteningly precise. He would definitely be on the ground five times over by now if not for his alpha reflexes, but they were getting more distracted with the omega's scent, ripe and intoxicating, so near and yet so far. 

But Stiles seemed to grow tired of their dancing around, and with another flash of gold in his eyes and on one of the rings, his figure blurred for a moment of blinding speed, human suddenly right behind Derek and after a painful kick to the back of the knee and an elbow strike to topple his center of gravity completely, he found himself face first on the ground....

....with Stiles bouncing excitedly right atop him, yelling his victory to the pack and the skies. Derek groaned his misery to the earth instead, debating internally if it would help to just bang his head really hard into the ground or would it make it worse. Because Stiles did not sit still, squirming and wiggling, and practically rubbing himself all over Derek's buttocks, making him call out silent grateful prayers that at least he decided to not do it the other way around and drop Derek on his back. Because then there would be no hiding his rapidly growing erection and flaming cheeks, even if both were probably glaringly obvious to everybody with a functioning nose in a ten-meter radius. Except for Stiles, of course. 

“Well, I win, now tell me!” 

Derek clamped his mouth shut, and bit his lips and covered his head with his hands for good measure, hanging onto every scrap of his willpower to stifle the moan threatening to spill out. 

It made it worse. It should be impossible, but Styles always was one to defy expectations, and now he leaned forward, chanting in Derek's ear over and over again "tell me", while clever, strong fingers with those damnable rings dig into his back, into his ribs, sides, and shoulders, trying to coax the answer or some reaction out of him. 

He can't take it anymore, his self-control hanging by a thread, wanting, demanding to do something, to flip them, to cover the human with his body, to make him chant and bounce for an entirely different reason, but he can't. 

So he grasps the last vestiges of his sanity to buckle up under Stiles, throwing him off and simply breaks out in a mad run, not turning around, not listening to the yelling behind him, not paying attention to the hollow ache in his chest that only grows with the growing distance between him and his... mate. He can run as far away as he likes, but he can't escape that fact. And the one where Stiles clearly doesn't feel the same. 

Derek was so fucked.


	5. Chapter 5

After the practice, Derek avoids everyone for two days straight. He doesn't have his phone on him, so there's nobody calling when he runs further and further into the Preserve, pushing his body to the limit until there is nothing in his head but howling wind and no scents but a damp comfort of the forest. 

 

Eventually, though, he has to stop. He topples to the ground, panting and looking up into the skies, just starting to tinge with sunset's orange, and tries his best to stop thinking. Stop remembering. Stop feeling things he really shouldn't. 

 

It is just his luck to be so compatible with that one person that apparently has some kind of permanent immunity to Derek. Even though he's in a much better place now - with his pack whole and fairly well managed, their borders protected and threats dealt with swiftly. He returned to his education that was put on hold with Laura's death, he got a job. Damn, he even got some therapy - online, but still, he is better now. The only thing that seemed to be missing in his life is that nagging space where a mate would be, somebody to love, to hold through the night, who wouldn't betray or use him. But fate clearly has not exhausted all the punches she has for him, for even if Stiles was most definitely not harboring some diabolical plans to hurt him and everybody he loves, he was utterly and painfully not interested. 

 

So, it wasn't true, then. 

 

Derek remembered how his mother always talked about true mates, of that feeling of just knowing that you belong with that person. The scent was the best clue, for werewolves at least, their noses guiding them to their intended ones with unfailing accuracy. Leave it to Derek to fail so miserably in that regard, with his perpetually cursed love life. 

 

Yet he still yearned for it, still hoped, telling himself not to, but dreaming nonetheless that someday, somewhere he would find that person that just for him. Just his. 

 

And then he gets Stiles. 

 

Infuriating, sarcastic, deadly stubborn and no less deadly impulsive. With zero self-preservation instinct. Clumsy. Annoying. Antagonizing. 

 

Witty, insanely smart and intuitive Stiles. 

 

Strong - body and soul now. With an unbreakable will, kind and selfless to a fault. Funny. Always coming to Derek's rescue, even when he had every reason not to. 

 

Beautiful Stiles. Weirdly hot Stiles. 

 

With his ridiculous twitchy dancing, expressive hand gestures and a mad glimmer in amber eyes that promised mischief and fun and danger. 

 

Absolutely perfect Stiles. 

 

Who could not care less. 

 

Derek's mournful howl shook the air, carrying over the treetops when he couldn't bear the aching in his chest any longer and disrobed hurriedly, his hands shaking and eyes treacherously wet. The second he got out of the last of his clothes, he slipped into his wolf form, reveling in the freeing tang of physical pain, and muscles burning with exertion, shifting, distracting, and then he ran, and ran, and ran, until he couldn't anymore and slept with restless dreams filled with golden eyes shining in the dark. 

  
  
  
  


It was Isaac that finally found him when he stopped for a little break, still a wolf, still trying to outrun his problems, even while staying in the borders of their territory, made probably more than dozens of circles around by now. It didn't really help either, so he snapped and growled at the beta, feeling a sharp pang of guilt immediately when Isaac recoiled automatically.

Derek's turn to approach him now, his ears pressed to his head and a quiet whine of apology, and soon he was enveloped in a crushing hug he didn't know he needed. Apparently, Isaac came prepared, his backpack filled with water and snacks both of which Derek eagerly devoured in companionable silence. It was always... easy with his first beta, Isaac was that person who knew when to just be near and when to speak and his unconditional support flowed through their pack bond the second Derek allowed it, sighing in content at the settling warm feeling of it. 

 

And then like a dam had broken, he felt each of the individual connections lighten up and wrap around him, as one by one the betas emerged from the dark forest. Each offered their greetings and touched Derek, renewing the scent mark, some just with the touch of a hand, some with a hug, some face planting in his fur with a half-hearted grumble. Soon though, they all were huddled around him in a big puppy pile right on the ground, using their wolfed out alpha and each other as a makeshift pillow. The pack connection, support, and their obvious worry eased the ache just enough for it to be bearable, finally allowing Derek to relax just a little bit for the first time in so many hours. It was also the moment when the betas decided to speak up.

 

“You know, you could just tell him? He can be pretty dense when it comes to these things.” 

 

Surprisingly, it's Scott who throws his first voice of support, while peeking into Derek's eyes from his place atop Isaac. The alpha only scoffs, because even Stiles cannot be that dense as to not notice a potential mate. Right? 

 

“Yeah, that's an understatement of the year,” Erica snorts, elbowing his hind leg and earning herself a perfunctory growl for it. “I say, just grab him, throw him on the bed and have your alpha way with him. That's gotta get a message across.” 

 

“It is also an assault, so not the best way to go, maybe? Unless you fancy our alpha getting shot and probably hanged for good measure by a Sheriff. And that after Stiles curses him six ways to Sunday with the nastiest spells imaginable.” - Isaac said. 

 

“Hey, at least I offered something!” 

 

They bicker and actually manage to wrestle a little while not breaking the pile arrangement, and Derek can't help but feel so immensely grateful that not one of them are either making fun of him or being as fatalistic as he tends to be. It makes him hope, just a little bit, that maybe if he just finds the right words, the right way, maybe Stiles will at least gives him a chance to try and prove to him that…

 

That... 

 

That finally gets Derek to think about the actual possibility of a relationship. Having a mate. Real life person mate. Not just some fancy notion of a dream, but a living, breathing person, with whom he could build a life with.

Together. 

 

The thought is so baffling, so huge and startlingly strange, he shifts back to human right in the middle of the pack cuddles, which results in a lot of affronted yelling and clothes thrown into his face and ass. There is also laughing and playful nudges and his betas continuing to touch him constantly, keeping him grounded and only moderately freaked out while they walk back to the city. They also refuse to leave even when Derek is safe and showered and in his own bed, simply huddling on top and all around him on the bed and giving him unimpressed looks of "sure you are" when he weakly mumbles his "but I'm okay". 

 

So for once, he decides against arguing and just takes the comfort, sleeping better than he had in weeks, even if he still chases after the scent of his mate fruitlessly in those dreams. 

  
  
  
  


He is absolutely not going around in circles around Stiles' house trying to work up the nerve to try to talk to him when he gets a text that sparks a mixed feeling of hope and dread in him. 

 

_ "Come now".  _

 

_ "Please".  _

 

_ "My place".  _

 

_ "Need ur help!"  _

 

All of them come in a quick rush as if he added each as an afterthought for the first one. Derek shoves down the impulse to ignore them and run far, far away (preferably on the other side of the country this time) and instead heads into the direction of the Stilinski household with an actual purpose. 

 

Their driveway is empty save for Stiles' beat up Jeep and the front door is closed, with no one answering Derek's knock. He starts to get actually worried, even if the further check around the building shows no foreign scents or possible intruders, and there is a light in Stiles window, the alpha's ears picking up him pacing and mumbling something to himself inside. It settles Derek's churning thoughts a little, while he easily climbs up, slipping through the cracked open window. 

 

“Ah! You're here! Finally!” 

 

Stiles is a hurricane of movement and energy, eyes gleaming with wild excitement, but sporting rather prominent bags under them. He clearly hasn't slept in a while and the room is a total mess of books, weird looking tools, metal scraps, chunks of rocks, crystals and balls of wire, twine, candles, and herbs. Everything smells just strange, even the air charged with some kind of lingering energy that reminds Derek of that nights in the woods on the stakeout, so probably he was doing magic rather than building a bomb? Unless it's both. 

 

And while Derek was finding his bearings and trying not to pass out from the weirdest mix of aromas in the small room, he was already maneuvered in a sitting position on a hastily cleared up a spot on the bed. Stiles seemed to talk all this time, not even bothered by the total lack of response, already picking up, from what looks like an altar on the table, a silver chain with an intricate pendant hanging from it. 

 

“Aaand there it is. I'd do it myself, but it keeps showing just one thing all the time, so I need somebody else, and my dad is working double, so, you know.” 

 

“And what it's supposed to do?”

 

“It's... seriously?! I just explained! Anyway, doesn't matter, just hold still!”

 

And before he can protest, Stiles already slipping the chain over his head, unnaturally cold metal making Derek shiver with a barely concealed trepidation. He only hopes that if it does kill him it would be fast. Instead, the small round stone nestled inside the delicate frame of spiralling wires glows gently with a murky grey, and Stiles grabs for a tattered notebook with a victorious cry, checking something against his notes inside. 

 

“You are afraid right now, right, right?” 

 

“Well, I'm most certainly concerned as to what exactly you trying to do with this thing!” 

 

But Stiles just ignores him, his gaze calculating and even more frightening. The necklace's glow picks up in intensity, but then there is a sudden pain radiating from his shin where his clearly crazed human decided to kick him with all his might. Derek swears and growls, even though the pain disappears quickly with his healing, but the omega looks positively delighted anyway, scrabbling down another hurried note. 

 

“Okay, negative spectre totally works, now we need something positive to compare... Can you laugh on demand?” - he points a pen at Derek, not waiting for an answer even, just going forth on the rollercoaster of his thoughts. 

 

“Nah, it is Derek we talking about, gotta make it something strong... Strong... Ha!” 

 

That gets alpha truly afraid though, Stiles suddenly moving right into his space, and Derek doesn't have anywhere to run, nor the time to prepare. And it is strong - practically vibrating with energy and wild-eyed omega plopping himself on his lap - again - and staring up at him with such expectant look as if he's supposed to burst into flames or something similarly epic. He doesn't though.  

 

The pendant totally does. The second they’re touching, the stone’s shine becomes nearly blinding as if a miniature sun exploded on Derek's chest. Bright gold rays of it swirl with tiny specks of sky blue and deep crimson, but in its essence, the light of it is warm and inviting, somehow almost... reaching towards Stiles in a little space they have between them. 

 

The human though doesn't really comment, scribbling away in his notebook and Derek can finally look inside, his heart turning cold on what he sees. 

 

Apparently, the pendant's purpose is to read emotions. Emotions which Derek hasn't yet decided to tell Stiles about, feelings that considering the strength of the glow are much stronger than he even realized himself, but right now on display for all the world to see. 

 

The hurt whine catches in his throat and he barely restrained himself to tear the damned thing in little pieces. He doesn't, because Stiles clearly worked on it for a long time and it's important to him. 

 

More important than not violating Derek's limits, that only thing he was sure he'd never do, somehow trusting the omega from the very start, already, so completely. Clearly, he should've known better. He is cursed after all. 

 

Stiles looks up at him in alarm when the dazzling gold turns into a jumbled mess of black, ice cold blue and sickening orange, but Derek just can't deal with this, he needs to get out and get as far away as he can. He doesn't care that Stiles yelps in pain when he pushes him from his lap, doesn't hear the warning shout when he tears the suddenly choking chain from his neck and throws it on the bed, refuses to slow down at the protest when he practically dives from the window into the night. 

 

He just runs and runs, yet again, his hopes and wishes crumbling inside his chest right along with his foolish heart that still refuses to abandon the nearly overwhelming longing for the stupid, careless human. 

 

Derek was so fucked.


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles was only moderately irritated at the moment when Derek suddenly threw him on the floor and ran out. Honestly, that was getting like a habit between them at this point. It was unfortunate, but even that brief testing showed that the artifact indeed worked, his theories on that particular enchantment were correct and with enough work he was sure, he would be able to duplicate the result on a bigger scale. Finally, finally, he could contribute in some significant way, not counting all his strategizing and generally being the guy with a plan, of course. But something tangible, something that would allow him to prevent his loved ones coming to harm, hopefully, rather than always dealing with the fallout. 

 

So he collected his precious creation, jotted down some more notes on that awesome color it turned at one point on Derek's chest - it was really, really beautiful, he just had to know what emotion it was later on - and then suddenly realized just how wiped he was. The exhaustion hit him like a brick, and he barely managed to hobble over to the bed, already asleep before his head hit the pillow, still clothed and right on top of half of his notes and random scraps he used in the work process. 

 

It was how his father found him hours later, and the slightly concerned but fond look on his face, as always, didn't fail to bring a lazy smile to Stiles' face. 

 

“Mornin', dad.” 

 

“Morning, son. Should I call the station and report a robbery, or..?” 

 

He gestured around the room, now examining which with more or less sober eyes the omega saw was a total mess, even more so than usual. 

 

“Urrghh, nah, that's all me. But I finished it! I think. The testing went weird. Hey, maybe you can help! I need to increase my sample group!” 

 

Cogs in his brain already working, Stiles perked up immediately, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and extricating himself from the bed to reach for the necklace, but his father stopped him halfway with both hands drawn up in placating gesture. 

 

“Son, I'll be happy to help, but first, you shower and I’ll make breakfast that you actually eat. You look awful.” 

 

“Gee, thanks, such compliments.” 

 

But quite honestly, his dad was right, he was so caught up in his work, he couldn't quite remember when he changed clothes last, never mind a bath or anything else. With a defeated groan he headed to change exactly that, his thoughts returning to last night and, of course, Derek.

He was generally weird all the time since Stiles returned and turned out to be an omega, and the human really tried his best to not just assume the worst of the guy, since he didn't treat any other omega in their pack any differently, but... he was weird. Maybe it was strictly a Stiles-shaped issue, though, it wouldn't be the first time, and with that, he could deal (probably, he hoped).  It would suck, but he'd know how to proceed at least. It didn't help that he was usually immune to all sorts of scorn and disregard in his direction, those he could shake off fairly easy, but this... This stung somehow. It felt wrong. He wanted Derek to like him. 

 

“Okay, that's just going too far. Showers are bad, bad places to think, yep. Traitor!” - Stiles jabbed a wet finger at the shower head, turning the water off and deciding to focus on his work instead of stupid thoughts about some stupid, brooding ridiculously hot alpha.

Also, his new stupid and ridiculous omega hormones? Totally not helpful. 

 

So he dried himself, and brushed his teeth, and found some clean clothes, and even combed his hair, all while very pointedly not thinking about one particular Hale. Or his broad shoulders that were so perfect for pillowing your head on while watching a movie. Or the warmth he always radiated as a perfect portable heater that could stave off even the worst chills of the night. Or how excited in an absolutely inappropriate way it was to sit astride those "wolfy buns of steel", as he called them in his head and sometimes out loud because they were perfectly not steely, but just plump and comfy enough to be perfect. 

 

Groaning in exasperation - again - and actually banging his head on the wall a few times for good measure, Stiles finally was ready to face the world and his father while not sporting an embarrassingly persistent boner those thoughts—the he totally was not thinking—gave him. Nope. It was all hormones. Even if his heat was nowhere near close. 

 

So he ate and chatted with his father, thoroughly enjoying their plentiful quality time now that he was home and not half a country away. He missed the familiar comfort of their little family, the unconditional acceptance he always felt here, that was like water to a parched man now, even when he mostly adjusted to his new designation. 

 

They were cleaning up the dishes when he got impatient enough to nearly bounce off the walls in a hurry to further test the height of his enchanter's days so far. The Sheriff gave him an exasperated sigh, but finally slipped the chain on his neck and the stone immediately shone with a steady and bright deep green glow of familial affection. 

 

“Ha! I knew you loved me!” 

 

He grinned and jotted down the relevant hues and the strength of the light, already thinking about how to go about eliciting some other emotion. 

 

“Eh... Dad, not to poke where I shouldn't, but testing ideally means both ends of the spectrum, good and bad, so…”

 

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead son, I did agree to this. Whatever this is.” 

 

“Oh! It's an amulet that reads and reflects emotions! Once I perfect the general workings of the enchantment, I'll, hopefully, will be able to increase the range enough so that it would pick up feelings from the distance too and turn it into, sort of an early warning system. We can put it up on the borders, maybe link up in a whole web with remote access, so the second some new big bad comes to town - BAM we're already there and kicking their asses!” 

 

The longer he spoke, or, rather, rumbled, the higher his dad's eyebrows shot up. But his face soon turned to that thoughtful expression he always got when figuring out some particular detail of a new case and that somehow was rather unsettling. Stiles wasn't a case. No figuring out needed, he was just trying to help. That's all. 

 

“That sounds like a lot of work, son... Aren't Derek's pack already patrolling those same borders pretty successfully?” 

 

“Yeah, sure they do. But it's not like they can do it 24/7. Or always pick up on all the things. And then those things come to bite us in the ass. Or the side. More like chomping on those, actually, with their nasty poisoned teeth and just…” 

 

Stiles frowned, his overeager mind easily providing the sickening memory of Derek, laying on the ground and bleeding, bleeding so much from a horrible, jagged wound, blood already tinged with that cursed black, yet still trying to go and help, to save everybody but himself. Stupid, stupid alpha. 

 

“Anyway, an ounce of prevention, a pound of the cure, all that.” 

 

“Sure, son... Whatever you say.” 

 

“What's that supposed to mean? And we were testing! Not talking about me!” 

 

Stiles huffed, his stubborn thoughts catching painfully on probably the best and simultaneously the worst possible way to elicit some strong emotions out of his dad. Who, yes, has given him permission, so he could, but... But nothing. 

 

“So... mom. You know, I really missed her this year. More than usual. Just... all the omega stuff, like sure, I'm cool now, but she always knew just what to say to make it all better.” 

 

“She sure did, son…”

 

Stiles heaved a heavy sigh, sliding up to his dad's side, who immediately hugged him close, but looked lost in his thoughts. The pendant on his chest glowed with dull blues and purple of old pain, but as second ticked by, it gradually turned... golden. A rather familiar golden too, tinged a lot more with cold mourning hues, sure, but... just that golden the Derek had the other night. The omega's throat felt dry and his hands were shaking slightly when he dared to ask. 

 

“Emm... Dad, you are still thinking about mom, right?” 

 

“Yeah, why? Is your thing doing something weird?” 

 

He looked slightly concerned now, the glow shifting already, but Stiles has barely noticed. 

 

He felt like everything was crumbling, like a house of cards toppled with a careless gesture. All the weirdness of Derek every time they were close, all the weirdness of Stiles himself, all the little and big thoughts that kept hounding him from the second he saw the alpha again... 

And then he remembered last night, and when finally, finally reconstructing the events how they actually went and not his hyper-focused brain’s interpretation of them, he swore at himself, for he undoubtedly hurt the man in a very bad, probably the worst way possible. He hurt his... mate... 

 

“Mate…” 

 

“...less! Stiles, dammit!” 

 

His father was frantic by the time he was able to turn his attention on him, scared and gripping his shoulders tight. 

 

“Are you okay? What happened? You smell... What's wrong?” 

 

“Ah... I... Might have done something really, really bad and didn't realize it. And I don't know if I can fix it. But I have to.” 

 

“Well... Apologizing is usually a good way to start.” 

 

It really was, except Derek was clearly hell-bent on avoiding Stiles at all costs now. He ignored his texts, calls and voicemails, he was never home when Stiles went by and even the betas, even Scott—Stiles’ best friend ever—refused to help, admitting with clear apprehension to the omega's begging just "You've really hurt him. He doesn't want to see you. Sorry." 

 

Stiles was so fucked. 

  
  
  
  
  


It was getting ridiculous now. A week went by and he still couldn't find Derek, no matter how much he pleaded with everybody that he truly wished to apologize. The betas stood firm, more than anybody influenced by their alpha's resolve, but even Allison and Lydia, the first one with regret and another with biting sarcasm refused to help him. So he had to improvise. If only he could figure out how. 

 

Because the truth of the matter was, that the separation messed with him all the more the longer it went on. Before not seeing Derek, not being able to get close or at least close-ish, Stiles didn't ever realize just how much he came to like it or depend on it. He blamed it all on his near-total inexperience with his omega side, with how late it decided to show up (no matter how justifiable the timing was, with all the near-death close calls of his high school years), but it didn't change the fact that he found his mate, almost certainly his true mate too, and just didn't fucking notice! 

 

Until it was too late. 

 

And now when his brain finally caught onto all his body’s signals, every day apart was pure torture, every instinct yelling at him to go to his mate and fix it, to be close again, closer even, to seal the bond, to make it better. It didn't help that he knew he was the one at fault for the falling out, for unwittingly hitting when it hurt the most, it did not help at all. 

 

So there was little surprise that he got a little too desperate and way too reckless, when he decided to head into the woods on the night he knew Derek would be patrolling. He wandered there for hours, calling out to him and begging for a chance to apologize, but the woods remained silent. However, even the steadily dropping temperature, nor the freezing cold rain that covered the preserve with a heavy downpour closer to the dawn did not stop Stiles. His foolish heart was yearning for that one person he needed and managed to drive away in his usual spectacular fashion. So, when the sun peeked out from the stormy clouds, illuminating the drenched forest with its gloomy light he did not go home, no. He went to the loft, empty and silent too, and plopped his soaked and weary body by the door, prepared to wait however long it took to finally see Derek. 

 

He passed out from the cold and exhaustion long before that. 

 

Stiles woke up however feeling plenty warm and rested. Even better - he was all but plastered atop one particular alpha, whose arms were hugging him close to a broad chest, their legs tangled under the fluffy blanket, the very picture of domestic bliss. 

 

“I'm so sorry, Derek.” 

 

Only a long-suffering sigh was his answer and Stiles scrambled up to look into the other man's face, which made his heart clench painfully. Derek looked awful, tired and pale, eyes sunken, and just so... resigned. Like he always expected the worst thing to happen and was just proven right, not really surprised. And he probably was, with his history, and Stiles swore at himself yet again, at how stupid he acted before. 

 

“Not your fault, Stiles. The heart wants what the heart wants. Or, well, doesn't.” 

 

Derek chuckled mirthlessly, staring up into the ceiling and very pointedly not at Stiles, even though his hands hadn't moved to release him or even move away. But the omega was just realizing, that clearly, he's not the only idiot in the room, for the alpha was somehow convinced that the apology was for not returning his affections. Which just would not stand. 

 

“Derek, look at me.” 

 

Stiles pleaded, crawling higher up the man's body, refusing to part from him, but needing for him to see that he was truthful. That he was serious, for once in his life. So he framed Derek's face with his palms, realizing belatedly that his rings were still there, probably cold on werewolf skin, but there were more important matters. Like wiping away that deep-seated misery from his mate's eyes. Preferably forever. 

 

“I am apologizing for hurting you. For being too wrapped up in my own head to not stop in time, before I…” - he gulped, guilt weighing hard on him, but continued on. - “Before I violated your privacy like that. I'm sorry. I'm an idiot. I am not sorry, however, for what my heart wants, for what  _ I _ want, so badly, I can't believe I didn't notice sooner, but hey, we already established I'm an idiot.”

 

He snickered nervously, biting his lip, racking his eyes over Derek's face, curious now, still silent, but cautiously hopeful, just a tiny smidge of "what if" lighting up his pale eyes. 

 

“It is  _ you _ I want. It was a real epiphany moment too, like who would've thought, right? But then when I actually did think about it, it's so fucking obvious, we... we  _ fit _ , always did, just couldn't catch up to it with my body being so slow on the uptake. Granted, my brains are even worse, and I was supposed to be the smart one, so…”

 

He never got to finish, his center of gravity suddenly turned upside down, when Derek, in frankly an impressive maneuver flipped them, a low, possessive growl erupting from his throat as he buried his face in Stiles' neck, hot lips and stubble teasing his skin, and suddenly Stiles was very interested in not talking. 

 

More like whining pathetically, arching his neck to present it to Derek better, his mind quickly fogging with a rush of arousal that raked through him, mixed with relief and a tentative, not really sunk in yet, but already dizzying realization that he found his mate. Really, really did, and he's right here with him, covering his throat with hungry kisses and tiny bites, hips grinding into his own, making him writhe and squirm. 

 

“Shit, shit, Stiles, we…” - Derek mumbled, and groaned as if pained, as Stiles tried to keep him right where he was, not remembering doing it, but already having woven his fingers into the black strands. 

 

“Is it okay? Can I touch you?” 

 

Stiles thought about joking because he was very clearly on board of the touching train, he craved it actually, but the look on the alpha's face, the raw honest expression cleared out his horny brain just enough to scrounge up some very good reasons for clear and unmistakably given consent.  

 

“Yes, anything, go nuts, buddy, totally A-okay with me, green light, full speed ahead…”

 

“Stiles.”

 

There was a smile, and a playful growl laced with his name, and his foolish, foolish heart literally skipped a beat just then, his field of view already swallowed by a handsome wolfy face approaching at that exact full speed. 

 

“Just don't bite me,” - Derek stilled, so close, so fricking close, their breath mingled in the heated space. - “Yet.” 

 

That did it, hazel eyes turning bright red and then Stiles was devoured with a searing kiss, that he enthusiastically returned. Things got a bit hazy from that point on. 

 

Derek descended upon him like he was starved, his lips and hands seemingly everywhere, turning Stiles into a moaning mess with terrifying ease. He couldn't remember if they were clothed before, but now there was only a delicious drag of skin on skin, and he reveled in it, scrambling for Derek to drag him closer still so that there was no space in between. 

 

And Derek seemed to like that idea very much with how much he clung to him in return, palms never leaving, caressing and squeezing, digging just on the verge of sharp nails into his hips so he could ground their erections together at a better angle, stealing a needy moan out of Stiles. The alpha kept returning to his neck though, alternating between kisses and just nuzzling into it, rubbing a wicked future beard burn that the human could not find in himself to complain about, because truth be told, the mixing of their scents there was simply intoxicating. 

 

He never really got all that talk about "smelling hot", living so long as a human beta, but right here, right now? He could just roll around in Derek's scent, take a long bath in it, if only he wasn't preoccupied with kissing the man senseless and trying to get his arms to cooperate enough so he could maybe put them on his dick for some much needed hands-on attention.

Stiles giggled and Derek glared, and all was right in the world, even better when the alpha shifted yet again, sliding down and leaving an absolutely filthy hickey on Stiles’ inner thigh, so close to where he wanted it and yet so far away, making the omega keen and spread his legs further, trying to coax some attention to his weeping hole. The werewolf growled, that low rumbling sound going through Stiles' bones straight to his dick and making him even wetter with a new blob of slick sliding down on the bed under the watchful eyes of an alpha. It got kinda lost in all the excitement before, but now all Stiles could think about is how achingly empty he felt, desperately clenching on nothing while his hips kept doing those little unconscious thrusts upward. 

 

“Fuck, you smell so good... Just want to eat you up.” 

 

It was probably Derek's fingers running so damn casually over the damp underside of his cock, teasing, that totally blew Stiles' brain-to-mouth filter—which was never that strong, to begin with. But he hardly could be blamed with every instinct in his body waking up and attacking him with vengeance for all the missed out years of being horny and needy and just wanting to be fucked into the mattress. 

 

“Nobody's stopping you, Der, just saying... I'm all yours.” 

 

Crimson eyes shot up to him, a startled, surprised expression, that did not sit right with Stiles at all. His alpha clearly needed some things spelled out to him right this second. So he sat up, ignoring his slight dizziness and cupped Derek's stupid, beautiful face with his hand, looking him straight in the eyes and doing his best to convey his utter and honest determination. 

 

“I'm yours. All in. Still don’t want the bite right this second, but... I'm your mate. As long as you'll have me.” 

 

It was the longest moment of silence, while Derek searched his face with an unreadable stare, and then... smiled that blinding smile, happy, elated little laugh spilling out of him, and then there were two strong arms gripping the human in a near bone-crushing hug, that felt much like acceptance. 

 

“Good. I'm not really planning on letting you go.” 

 

“Pfff, couldn't keep me away if you tried. I like you way too much.” 

 

Now Derek was all soft smiles and finally, finally relaxed eyebrows - who knew all it'd take is a love confession and some snuggles - and Stiles went for a kiss, slower this time, gentle touches and savoring the taste. 

 

Except it's not nearly enough right now, desire still burning bright in Stiles’ core, still thrumming in his veins, stronger and stronger as he traced the contours of Derek's face with his fingertips, barely believing that he's actually allowed. 

 

Just as he allowed to fall back onto the sheets, dragging the alpha,  _ his _ alpha with him, hooking his legs on hips to bring him closer, to whisper a fevered  _ please _ into the kiss, knowing it will be heard, will be  _ satisfied _ . 

 

And then those damnable lips make a path of fleeting kisses down along his body, and he clutches onto the broad shoulders for support, for some sense of reality as his brain nearly melts with a barrage of sensations because those kisses are now going all down the length of his cock. Hands spreading him, manhandling effortlessly so that he’s totally open and ready and can just moan his pleasure when a skilled tongue darts lower still, circling his entrance. 

 

All Stiles can do now is keen and arch, meeting that wicked tongue on each stroke, that keeps licking into him, lapping up steadily leaking slick with low possessive growls that send delicious tiny vibrations right through Stiles' nerves. It's no surprise that when a careful, probing finger joins that tongue, it sinks in with zero resistance, with the omega so wet and relaxed he could probably take three right now, let alone just one. But even when Stiles whines and begs, Derek does not relent, setting a slow rhythm that the human is sure would drive him insane, because he needs more and he needs it  _ now _ . 

 

Except the alpha seems rather content with fucking him almost gently with that damn single finger, slowly teasing him with a barely there grazes of the prostate, sometimes pushing in tongue right along in there, driving Stiles to the edge, but not allowing him to fall over just yet. But he can't, it's not enough and he wants to come so badly his head hurts, so he tries to help himself along with some good old-fashioned handjob, but... 

 

“No.” 

 

That commanding alpha voice stops him in his tracks, and he is left even more desperate with how freakishly hot Derek looks between his legs, lips pink and wet, crimson eyes blazing with dominance and lust. He whines, again, and the alpha's face softens, the free hand rubbing soothingly into his side, and those sinful lips pressing a gentle kiss to his thigh right next to the bite mark he left earlier. 

 

“I've got you, Stiles. But you'll come when I want you to come.” 

 

Stiles actually almost comes just from that. But only almost, because Derek catches on, grinning devilishly, making Stiles clench in anticipation, moaning yet again on the delightful but not nearly enough pressure of just one finger. Thankfully, his alpha does not seem too hell-bent on torturing him much more, because he withdraws completely only to return with two fingers, crooking them just right, hitting all the right places, and Stiles can't think anymore. He's sure he mumbles a lot of  _ more _ and  _ harder _ and  _ Derek _ somewhere between all the moaning, but he honestly could not care less, because this time the tempo Derek has set is steady and quick, and then he adds a third finger on one of the passes, not even breaking the rhythm or taking his mouth away. 

 

So Stiles hangs right there on the verge, head swimming and hands shaking with toe-curling pleasure, but he just can't come, because Derek told him to wait, told him he's got him, and he wants to be good right now, wants to obey. And there's certainly some mind reading involved or maybe he looks desperate enough, but right when he's sure he can't take one more second of this and not burst, Derek plunges his fingers deep and precise and swallows his cock to the root in one smooth motion with just one blessed word before. 

 

“Come.” 

 

And Stiles does. 

 

It crushes through him like a wave, drowning out the world around him to a distant white nose, with only blinding pleasure left, pulsing, bursting, dancing along his nerves for one long glorious moment. It lasts for what feels like minutes, stretching on and on, until finally Stiles surfaces somewhere closer to reality where he's wrapped up in the arms of one very snuggly alpha, who nuzzles his neck again, mouthing softly on the spot where the mating bite would go and that thought makes Stiles' tired muscles clench again, sending aftershock tingles all around. He smiles, feeling almost drunk on a postorgasmic stupor, blissfully fucked out and sated... that is until he notices Derek's cock still hard and pressed along his stomach, and the alpha doing seemingly unthinking grinding thrusts, but not really trying to get off per se either. 

 

Except Stiles’ body feels like overcooked noodles, spent and useless and that just won't do when he has some very dirty favors to return. Thankfully, his dear alpha did leave his rings on and all Stiles has to do is concentrate enough on one in particular and its power rushes through him in an energizing flow, rejuvenating in a matter of a second, while also leaving all the pleasant satisfied sensations intact. 

 

Derek doesn't see it though, doesn't notice until it is Stiles who flips them over, settling in a very familiar position straddling his hips, but with very different intentions this time around. He smirks at a dazed, awed expression on the werewolf's face and allows himself a moment to just appreciate all that beauty he's got under him, following his inspecting gaze with inquisitive touches that leave Derek squirming. 

 

So he grinds his hips down, in slow, deliberate motion right over the alpha's hard cock, coating him with his still plentiful slick, drawing out a stuttered groan. It's not nearly enough though and he shifts slightly lower so that he can play with the cockhead, spreading the pre-come with a lazy circling motion that gets him a full out moan, low and desperate. He wants to hear more of those sounds, more of Derek, to take him completely apart, so overcome with pleasure he can never even think about anything else. So he waits until Derek looks up at him, and wiggles his fingers pointedly before bringing them behind himself, balancing with the other hand on Derek's stomach to plunge all four inside his stretched hole to thoroughly coat them, watching his alpha's slack-jawed stunned face through hooded eyes and biting his lip distractedly at the sensation. 

 

He almost wants to leave the fingers right where they are, the low-level arousal still thrumming in him, but he does have more important things to do at the moment. Like grip Derek's length with those same fingers, strokes smooth and easy with all the natural lubricant, and set on to the fascinating journey of figuring out the best angles to drive his alpha mad with lust. It doesn't take long, Derek already almost there, his powerful, graceful form writhing beneath Stiles, threatening to throw him off, but he hangs on, squeezing harder, working him over faster, chasing that delightful edge. He bends over, catching a nipple with his teeth, a gentle bite and rolling over tongue, and that's all it takes, Derek's shaking and moaning just on the edge of a howl, spilling over Stiles' hand with hot spurts, coating his belly and chest and even Stiles' chin with cum. 

 

The alpha groans again when he opens his eyes only to find Stiles licking that cum from his fingers, relishing in their mingled tastes that feel so right on his tongue.

 

“You're gonna be the death of me…”

 

“Well, at least it'll be a happy one, right?” 

 

They laugh together, breathless and giddy, falling into one tangled mess of limbs intertwined, not caring for the mess. 

 

Stiles feels high on the afterglow, something settling inside his chest into a sense of completeness he never really felt before, and he wonders if they can actually do this or if it'll truly turn out to be the death of them. 

 

They're probably both fucked since the probability is firmly on the latter with their combined luck…

 

But Stiles is still determined to try his damn best because Derek is worth it. Fucked or not.


End file.
